


The Personal Blog Of Dr. John H. Watson.

by HaleHounds



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock (TV) RPF, Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: Bombs, Deductions, Gunshot, M/M, Murder, Serial Killers, Sherlock - Freeform, The return of Sherlock holmes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-01-19
Updated: 2013-01-19
Packaged: 2017-11-26 02:27:46
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,665
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/645535
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HaleHounds/pseuds/HaleHounds
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock has returned from the dead.<br/>Five blog entries on John's first case with Sherlock since he returned. </p><p>Cliffhangers, twists.</p><p>"a destructive Sherlock means more body parts in the kitchen than ever, endless amounts of pointless experiments and Sherlock’s new hobby ‘creative ways of destroying John’s beer.’ "</p><p>Written by CC</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Personal Blog Of Dr. John H. Watson.

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Lauren Thom](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Lauren+Thom).



THE PERSONAL BLOG OF DR JOHN H WATSON

 

The Return of Sherlock

221b was never a conventional place to live; what with Sherlock Holmes being my flatmate. He’s been back for almost three months now, and after he faked his own death not so many people have been sending their problems his way (it was almost expected after the rather long article the sun had printed about how ridiculous it was that “some actor” could con an entire city, fake his death then return without so much as a fine never mind a prison sentence).  
An out of work Sherlock is a destructive Sherlock (I don’t think anybody needs to be reminded of the bullets that ended up lodged into Mrs. Hudson’s wall last year) and a destructive Sherlock means more body parts in the kitchen than ever, endless amounts of pointless experiments and Sherlock’s new hobby ‘creative ways of destroying John’s beer.’

Sherlock had spent almost two hours hanging off the edge of the sofa grumbling about how mediocre ‘ordinary’ life was. In order to pay for rent I’d had to get a job filing for a hospital (a job I’m painfully over qualified for) which meant that I managed to escape his constant complaining for a couple hours three days a week. I sat in my armchair with a newspaper resting on my lap, open on page 5. I had been reading the details of a murder out loud to Sherlock above his nattering well aware that he was listening despite the fact it appeared as though he wasn’t.

“Mark Collins’ body was discovered in the early hours of Thursday morning, by his sister-in-law after Mrs. Collins had appeared hysterical on her doorstep. His body was tied to a chair in the living room of his Croydon home,” I continued to scan my eyes over the story, “gunshot to the chest, no statement from Mrs. Collins as to how she escaped has been released to the public yet.”

Sherlock sighed loudly and threw the pillow he had in his arms in my general direction, “boring!”

I shrugged and shut the paper, “I’d have to disagree.”

With that Sherlock finally sat upright again - his face red from being upside down for so long - he looked just as displeased as he had done before I read the headlines. I stood and dropped the newspaper onto the coffee table before heading towards the kitchen to make a fresh pot of tea for myself and my companion. As I reached the arch of the kitchen Mrs. Hudson gave the door a chap with her knuckles.

“Sherlock, the police are here to see you. I’ll make some tea,” She left the room, leaving Lestrade stood in the doorway looking slightly on edge.

Lestrade hadn’t been around often since the return of Sherlock Holmes, it was bad press to be seen talking with an accused con man who faked his own death.

“The Mark Collins murder, have you been following it?” Lestrade asked.

Sherlock rolled his eyes and gave a curt nod, slumping farther back into the sofa, “John has been keeping me informed of all the recent news headlines,” he said simply.

“Mrs. Collins told the police that the killer had made her husband choose who would die; him or her. There isn’t enough physical evidence to catch an unknown suspect-“

“-and said unknown suspect has killed again,” Sherlock stated, boredom drenching the very corner of his words.

“Yes. Another middle aged couple in Croydon, an obvious pattern. I need you to take a look,” he looked tired, large bags under his eyes and a croak to his voice as he spoke.

Sherlock stood without another word, I could tell he had no real interest in this case, but the fact remained that any case was better than no case. My companion pulled on his coat, wrapped his scarf around his neck and turned to face me with a spark in his eyes that I hadn’t seen in a long time.

“Are you coming, John?” he asked.

I hesitated for a moment, my life had been pretty empty since the day Sherlock Holmes died, being Sherlock’s companion, solving crimes and getting into danger was exciting. I’m not sure I’m quite ready to give up that kind of life just yet.

***

I climbed out of a black London cab in the middle of Croydon at Sherlock’s side. The house was fairly large, painted white with a concrete pathway caked in mud. Sherlock seemed as if he’d have liked to stay outside longer and examine the dirt for footprints, however Lestrade dragged us towards the crime scene tape, lifting it so to let us duck inside.  
The hallway was dimly lit with a couple of forensics scanning around for evidence. We were lead into the dining room where the victim’s body was tied up. The victim this time was the wife. I studied the cadaver and vocally estimated the time of death to be around 15 hours before. Sherlock knelt down and began to exam a dirty footprint on the laminate flooring, the forensics had already placed a yellow number card next to it for the crime scene photos.

“Lestrade, I recall you mentioning that there was no evidence sufficient to catch a killer.”

Lestrade didn’t reply he simply left Sherlock to his work, it was best not to encourage Sherlock’s showing off. Sherlock moved over to the body and scanned it with his magnifying glass before swirling round to examine the chair that had previously had the victim’s husband tied to it. Without a word he straightened up and left the room, returning two or three minutes later looking significantly more smug than usual.

“What did the husband say?” I asked before Sherlock had time to gloat.

“He said that he refused to choose between his own life and his wife’s, and that the killer shot his wife in a fit of rage.

Sherlock let out a small laugh and pocketed his magnifying glass, “The suspect is male, six foot tall exactly. This woman’s husband is a liar, the suspect is a particular man with a set Methodology, almost to the point of an obsessive disorder. He would not have shot the wife in a temper; he’s a calm natured man. The suspect put extensive planning into these murders, there’s an alarm that didn’t go off, no physical evidence; fingerprints, epithelial tissue. Our suspect knew both couples personally, and this woman’s husband chose to save himself.”

Lestrade let out an exasperated sigh and ran a hand through his greying hair, “so the victims had done something to trigger the killer? He had a personal vendetta against them?”

“Don’t be stupid, Lestrade!”

I shot Sherlock a warning look. As intelligent as that man may be he has little knowledge of manners, “Sherlock,” I said in the tone one would direct at a naughty child.

“Yes, of course. Apologies, Lestrade, you didn’t choose to be so painfully dim.”

Lestrade rolled his eyes and gave a defeated shake of the head.

“The murderer sees this as a social experiment, it’s obvious. He wants to see how the couples react in such a situation. He will have a degree in a related subject, he’s unsatisfied in his current job…of course he is, no chance to show off his knowledge. Frustrated, unappreciated…” Sherlock’s voice had died down to that of almost a mutter as he strolled aimlessly around the room.  
“We need to find the link between the two couples. Come on, John,” Sherlock said as he turned and left without another word towards Lestrade.

***

We returned to 221b around late afternoon. Sherlock had refused to say a word the whole trip back, he gets like this sometimes, and apparently talking could ruin his concentration. In my experience Sherlock always has a lot more going on inside his mind than he lets out.  
It was quiet inside 221b when we stepped inside; Mrs. Hudson was downstairs in the cafe. Sherlock walked over to the laptop as soon as his coat was unbuttoned and thrown across the sofa. I slid into my armchair and watched quietly as my companion searched through pages of online records. After a couple more minutes he sighed and clicked onto Facebook, entering details into the log in.

“You don’t have Facebook,” I said.

“But you do.”

I rose to my feet and made my way over to Sherlock, he had successfully signed into my Facebook and had started scrolling through the pages of “Mark Collins” from the London area.

“How did you-“

“-your password is 221b…”Sherlock stated dully before clicking on the Facebook page of the Mark Collins that we were looking for.

I took a mental note to change my password before turning away, leaving Sherlock to his work.  
In almost the same amount of time it had taken me to prepare a sandwich Sherlock finished his search. He called me back into the living room.

“The two husbands worked together in a marketing company near here,” Sherlock stated with a satisfied smile. The bugger loves being right more than anything in the world.

“I’ll call Lestrade,” I said, “don’t look at me like that Sherlock, the company won’t just let a ‘consulting detective’ with no proof of his made up job title being legitimate and a year worth of bad press in almost every London based newspaper prance around accusing a member of its staff of murder.”

Sherlock huffed loudly like a child but grabbed his coat nonetheless, shutting down the laptop as I typed Lestrade’s mobile number into my phone.

 

4 comments:   
“I had hoped you would pay more attention to the actual science of my work, now that you’ve started writing your blog again.”  
\- Sherlock Holmes.

“Well? Thoughts?”  
\- John Watson.

“It was an unrealistic dream. Does anyone still read this rubbish? You write like a child.”  
Sherlock Holmes.

“I do! Glad to see you have new cases, John! Nice idea, the cliff-hanger.”  
\- Harry Watson.


End file.
